Limbo
by holymischief
Summary: Sherlock gets shot, John can't do anything about it. (post-reichenbach oneshot)
1. Limbo

Angst. So much angst. I honestly don't know what drove me into writing this...

I'm kinda suffering from a writing block on my other fic and needed a valve.

**This is a post-reichenbach one shot written from Johns POV. Trigger Warnings: Major Character Death**

* * *

**Limbo**

lim·bo

_n._ _pl._ **lim·bos**

1. A region or condition of oblivion or neglect

2. A state or place of confinement.

3. An intermediate place or state.

(source: thefreedictionary limbo)

* * *

It happened so fast. I can barely recall how I ended up here. It's like someone stopped the world from turning and everything went numb.

It happened too fast. I somehow felt that something was off with this case when we stormed out the door this afternoon. I told him to be careful. I told him to wait for me. Now I'm cradling his head, kneeling in a dark alleyway. The sky is falling down on us. I can't distinguish between tears and the rain on my face anymore. I don't know if he's crying, too.

Too fast. The last thing I remember is whirling around to see him fall. Again. There is blood all over him, probably all over me, too. My throat hurts from shouting. I don't hear what I'm shouting for anymore. There is only silence in my head. I remember calling Lestrade, asking for an ambulance. I remember yelling at him, to hurry up. That was what feels like hours ago. My fingers went numb from pressing onto the wound. His scarf is soaked in crimson liquid. "John." I've never heard his voice so hoarse and thin. "Just hang on. They're almost here.", I'm surprised by how calm I sound. His hand grasps at my jacket. I can see how he's struggling. I take his pulse and feel it getting weaker with each beat. The bullet hit him good, missed the heart but didn't fail to damage. The doctor inside me knows how this is going to end, but I'm not ready yet. I hold him tight, wishing I'd wake up any second now. Wishing he'd finally stop acting and jump up to chase after the gunman. Whishing he'd tell me to get up and quit weeping. But I can't, I can't make it stop. Because a part of my mind has come to realise that he's leaving me. For good. And that part of me has realised that there is nothing at all that I can do to make it stop. I am helpless, drifting in the middle of the ocean. I watch how his eyes flutter, his jaw and lips working, trying to form words. If I'd still be sane I propably wouldn't have mistaken it for him trying to tell me that he loves me. Because I do. I love him with all my heart, for everything he was and everything he gave me, and I'm not willing to let go yet. Not again and not for good. At this point I don't care about my selfishness. I want to rewind time. I want to be selfish and keep this from happening. I want to be selfish and keep me from meeting Sherlock Holmes. I want the world to explode and take everyone, including myself, with him rather than have him ripped away from me. "Sherlock-" Is all I manage. His name is ringing inside my head. My body hurts. My hands from gripping too tight and my head from crying. I'm not opening my eyes but I know that he's looking at me. To hell with it. To hell with everything. I feel his body go limp in my arms. I'm still not opening my eyes but I can hear sirens and voices calling from what seems like the other end of the world. My muscles hurt. Bright lights flicker through my eyelids. My senses go numb. My mind shuts off. I don't want to feel.

I fall into oblivion and decide to stay in limbo.


	2. Epilogue

I didn't know half of the people attending his funeral. I believe that most of them showed up because he didn't 'die a coward' this time. They felt like they owed him something. Like they needed to pay ther respect because they had only started to believe in him again. It makes me sick.

**_If tears could build a stairway,_**

It still feels like falling. I tripped and fell and I won't quite hit the ground. Hell, I've been there before. I'm still waiting for the impact. This time I know that he won't come back. I know that this was final. I am aware that my friend is dead, I'm believing it. But I'm not willing to admit it. I'm still falling.

**_and memories a lane,_**

How could I blame him? Everyone knew that Sherlock Holmes wouldn't get a chance to grow old. No one could've imagined him rocking in a chair, watching over his grandchildren, or playing bingo. To be honest, I'm almost glad that he'll never have to wittness how his brilliance is taken away by a disease. I know that he wouldn't have wanted that. I know that he would've wanted to die in dignity. He did, in a way. And yet it feels like the world has lost it's sun. I have lost my sun.

**_ I'd walk right up to heaven_**

I talk about how much we've all lost and how he was the most brilliant man I've ever known. When they ask me about him, I tell them that he died too young. I tell them that he will always be the most remarkable, most honorable person I've known and the most loyal friend to me.

I am crushed by what's left unsaid.

**_and bring you home again._**


End file.
